Unleashed (The Elliott Brothers #2)

Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

A s I stepped into my apartment building, my mind raced with thoughts of Michael. The last thing I expected was to hear my name, spoken in a low, familiar whisper behind me.

“Miss Kincaid.”

I turned sharply, my heart freezing in my chest.

Michael stood there, alive, as if the last few months had never happened. His hair was shaggy, his beard thicker than before, but it was unmistakably him.

“I must be seeing a ghost.”

His lips curved into a wry smile. “I assure you, I’m very much alive.”

Without hesitation, I jammed the key into the lock, twisting the knob, desperate to close out the figure looming behind me. Before I could, Michael surged forward, shoving me into the apartment. The door slammed shut behind him with a resounding thud.

My heart raced, fear creeping in. I wiped a bead of sweat from my upper lip.

“Get out!” I snapped, backing away. “You can’t just disappear and waltz back in like nothing happened! What you did was—fraudulent.” My voice wavered, but I held my ground.

Michael’s ice-blue eyes drilled into mine, cold and searching. His gaze burned into me until I had to look away, but his hand shot out, gripping my chin and forcing my face back toward his.

"It wasn’t fraudulent if I didn’t remember," he said, his voice low and steady.

“Huh?” I blinked, confused.

“You’re still as beautiful as I remember. But I see I’ve got you tongue-tied,” he added, the corner of his mouth curling.

I jerked my head out of his grip, retreating further into the kitchen. My hand flew up to stop him as he followed, the large emerald-cut diamond on my finger catching the light. His eyes landed on it, darkening as he grabbed my hand, inspecting the ring with a frown.

“I see I’ve lost you,” he muttered.

“You never had me.” I yanked my hand back and stalked toward the counter.

I expected him to argue, to push, but the Michael I knew wouldn’t give in that easily. I grabbed a bottle of wine, uncorked it with a pop, and took a long gulp, hoping it would steady my nerves.

His gaze never wavered. “I see I’ve upset you,” he remarked with a mocking tilt of his head.

“You think?” I snapped. “Start explaining or get the hell out before I throw you out myself.”

“Then stop drinking,” he warned, stepping closer, his voice dropping. “I need you sober for this.”

I took another gulp, defiantly. “Does your family know you’re back? Your mother was heartbroken.”

“They know,” he said flatly. “My parents, at least.”

“And Lincoln?”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “That’s... complicated. How do you know what my brother is or isn’t aware of?”

I took a breath, feeling the familiar sting. “You were right about one thing—Lincoln and Erika hit it off.”

Michael’s eyes widened in disbelief. “She’s his girlfriend? How?—?”

“Stop!” I cut him off, slamming the wine bottle down on the counter. “You don’t get to ask questions. I loved you, Michael. Did you think I was lying when I said that?”

He stiffened, the air between us thickening. “I saw you,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean?” I asked, the tension wrapping around my chest.

“The weekend you went away with Slade Abbott. I saw you kiss him,” he said, bitterness coating every word.

My heart sank. “You were spying on me?”

“I had to know. To see if I was the only one,” he said, his voice harsh. “You played me, Morgan. Seeing you with him was like a knife to the heart.”

“So your solution was to vanish? To let everyone think you were dead?” My voice cracked with disbelief.

“I didn’t fake my death,” he said sharply. “I’m not dead.”

“But everyone thought you were!” I shot back. “Did you plan this?”

He shook his head. “No. It was an accident.”

“An accident?” I echoed, incredulous. “You disappeared by accident?”

His eyes softened, and he stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I had an accident, Morgan. And I didn’t remember anything afterward.”

I stared at him, the words not sinking in. “What are you talking about?”

He took a deep breath. “I remember now. I can explain everything, but you need to listen.”

I crossed my arms, trying to steady the swirling confusion. “Your company shut down. Do you even know what you left behind?”

“My father told me. His lawyers handled it all,” he said, pain flickering in his eyes. “Please, let me explain.”

I reached for the wine bottle again, but Michael’s hand shot out, gripping the neck and pulling it away from me.

“I said I need you sober,” he insisted.

I sighed, pressing my palms flat against the cool granite countertop, waiting. The tension in the room felt unbearable as I braced myself for whatever came next.

“When I saw you with him, it destroyed me,” he began, his voice rough with emotion. “You told me you loved me, and then you ran off with Abbott?”

“I loved him too,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “It was complicated.”

He held up a hand. “You can explain later. Let me finish.”

I bit my lip, nodding for him to continue.

“I went to my house in Maine,” he said, his tone growing distant, “and I drank. I couldn’t think straight. The beach I had wanted to share with you became the place I drowned in my misery.”

My stomach twisted. “And the boat?”

“I took it out the next day,” he said, his voice hollow. “The water was rough, but nothing I hadn’t navigated before. I made sure I had my life vest, but the storm hit faster than I expected. I tried heading back, but the engine died. A wave hit... and that’s the last thing I remember.”

“And you expect me to believe that?” I asked, my voice trembling.

He nodded slowly. “I was found by some fishermen. Hypothermic, nearly dead. They took me to a hospital in Nova Scotia.”

“Nova Scotia?” I whispered, shocked.

“I had amnesia,” he explained, his voice breaking. “They didn’t know who I was, and I couldn’t remember a thing. They called me Al... some inside joke from a Paul Simon song.”

I blinked, confused. “What? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said softly. “What matters is I didn’t remember who I was for months. I lived in Nova Scotia, thinking I was Canadian.”

“When did you remember?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Two months ago. It all came back... when I saw a truck from Thibodaux and Associates,” he said. “I remembered everything. I was a structural engineer. And I knew... I had to come back.”

“And just like that, it all came flooding back?” I asked, my voice dripping with disbelief.

“Every bit of it,” Michael said, his voice a mix of anguish and relief. “I remembered my name, who I was, and what happened to me. When I told Pierre I was a structural engineer, he thought I was having a mental break.”

“Well, in a way, you were,” I retorted, unable to hide the bitterness.

“But positively,” he countered, his eyes softening. “I proved what I knew when I saw the man who owned the truck. I started talking to him about the project, using technical language I hadn’t used since the accident.”

I swallowed hard. “Did you remember me?”

He looked down, his face etched with pain. “I did. When I remembered seeing you with Slade, my heart broke. I knew then that there was no chance for me anymore. It had been too long.”

“Michael,” I whispered, feeling the tears prick at my eyes.

His return had stirred up all the memories and emotions I’d buried. As I processed his words, Michael moved around the counter and gathered me into his arms. I let him hold me, despite knowing it was the worst possible decision. I wanted him so much, it hurt.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head. “You belong to someone else, and I’m sorry for that. Maybe you never truly belonged to me.”

“I love you,” I murmured, my voice choked with emotion.

“You can’t love me,” he said softly, his tone heavy with resignation. “You’re with another man. I might be many things, but I’m no snake. I won’t stand in your way.”

“What if I want you to stand in my way?” I pushed my nose against his black t-shirt, inhaling his familiar scent, which was a bittersweet reminder of everything we’d shared. Michael’s grip on my shoulders tightened, and he gently pushed me away to look into my eyes.

“I need to return to my world,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry you can’t be a part of it.”

With those final words, he released me and walked toward the door. I watched in stunned silence as he slipped through it and disappeared into the night. Alone, I sank to the floor, overwhelmed by the gravity of his departure.

Sobs wracked my body. I needed something stronger than wine to numb the pain. I grabbed a bottle of Svedka vodka from the freezer and took a swig straight from the bottle. The liquid burned as it slid down my throat, but with each pull, the shaking in my hands subsided, leaving me with a hollow sense of calm.